


Skinny Jeans and Cold Coffee

by SecondhandStockholm



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Barduil - Freeform, College!AU, Fluff, M/M, i'm trash bye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3749194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondhandStockholm/pseuds/SecondhandStockholm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Barduil oneshot College!AU based on the prompt "My pottery bowl exploded in the kiln and I feel like a failure, you found me crying about it in the hallway”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skinny Jeans and Cold Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first oneshot on AO3. It's my first AO3 post at all, actually. And my first Barduil fic. Oh boy.   
> This is based on the prompt "My pottery bowl exploded in the kiln and I feel like a failure, you found me crying about it in the hallway”. This isn't my best work, but my throat is killing me and my head's pounding and I'm sick as hell but I needed something to do other than sleep and watch Hell's Kitchen. 
> 
> Check out my tumblr too, I literally never update it though, because writing is hard and I'm a quitter. ~ iwriteaboutboyskissingboys.tumblr.com
> 
>  
> 
> *Edited to include Bagginshield since I love them and why the hell not I'm an american I can do what I want*

Bard was done. This whole uni thing was a lot harder than he expected it to be. Who knew you had classes at 8 am? On a Monday? It was a damn ceramics class for God's sake, who the hell made that decision? Guess he wasn't escaping all aspects of secondary school yet. So he'd managed a solid three hours, was twenty five minutes late on his first day, and got a stern reprimanding from his professor, some pompous self-aggrandizing arse who insisted his students call him The Master. How the hell he was qualified to teach art, Bard had no idea. The man knew nothing. 

To make matters worse, Bard had tripped on his way to his table and banged his knee on the hard ground, and just when he thought of giving up, quitting uni and going back home, his pottery bowl exploded in the kiln. 

So now Bard found himself in the hallway, knees tucked up against his chest, sniffling to himself. 'God I'm a fucking failure. Who can't even make a goddamn pottery bowl?' He thought dejectedly, head resting against the unforgiving grey bricks. He hadn't cried in years, not since he broke up with his boyfriend years back. Yet as he tried to stop, more tears came out, making their way steadily down his face. 

“Are you okay?” A lilting voice came from above Bard's head. He peaked his head up, eyes peering out from a curtain of messy brown hair. He was sure he looked pathetic, but he felt pathetic so he thought it was appropriate. The man above him took his breath away. 

He was tall, Bard could tell, even from his spot on the ground. He was wearing black skinny jeans that hugged his seemingly endless legs, and a loose red plaid shirt. His long, impossibly smooth hair was in a simple low ponytail. His face, god his face, was pale and fair, with a strong jaw and icy blue eyes below immaculate brows. His outfit was casual, but he held an air of grace about him that, combined with the fluorescent light right behind the man's head that seemed to light his head in just a way that made him look like an angel, left Bard feeling inadequate. 

Which, unfortunately, was the last thing Bard needed to feel any more. He opened his mouth to reply, but burst into tears again, ducking his head back down, curling in on himself. As much as he internally reprimanded himself, he couldn't bring himself to stop crying, and the thought of embarrassing himself in front of this beautiful stranger just made him cry harder. He opened his eyes long enough to see the man kneeling down next to him, gently setting his cardboard coffee cup down first, before pulling Bard into his arms. 

Bard just clung onto him, burying his face in the man's creamy porcelain neck. He tried not to think about the fact that he didn't know this man-and definitely tried not to think about how good he smelled-and instead gratefully accepted the unexpected comfort, since it was the first he had received in a while. The man just wrapped his arms gently around Bard, holding him and putting his hand on the back of Bard's head, lightly stroking his hair and whispering something along the lines of “Shhh, it'll be alright” 

Finally, Bard quieted down, and was left sniffling against the man's strong chest. He felt safe, content, and he wanted to stay like this forever. When he realized that was not very likely to happen, he pulled away, wiping tears from his eyes. He managed to make eye contact with the man, not sure what he expected to see. The man was smiling kindly at him, icy blue eyes surprisingly warm. 

“Uh...thanks.” Bard managed to say, and the man smiled in return.  
“It's no trouble. I couldn't just leave you there, now could I?” The man said, his voice somehow light and deep at the same time. He stood up, sticking out a hand to help Bard up too. Bard took it gratefully and stood up, brushing off his faded old jeans. “Now, how about we go grab a coffee and you can tell me why you were crying, ...” He trailed off, and Bard realized he was asking his name.

“Bard.” He said, his voice still a little croaky from crying. 

The man smiled. “Thranduil. Now come on, there's a Starbucks not five minutes from here.” He took Bard's hand in his, and Bard was tempted to ask him what kind of moisturizer he used-he hands were friggin' soft. 

“You uh, you had a coffee with you.” He said, admittedly confused as to why this extremely handsome stranger wanted to go anywhere with him. 

Thranduil smirked, gently pulling him towards the doors at the end of the hall. “It was getting cold.” 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fifteen minutes later, Bard was plonked down in a cushy chair in a Starbucks, a latte in his hand. Across from him, Thranduil gracefully slid into his seat, and again Bard wondered if this man was an angel. 

“So,” Thranduil started, looking up from his cup. 

“So...” Bard responded, awkwardly trailing off. 'Just talk, idiot, if he was gonna judge you he'd have done it by now' He thought. “Look, thanks for that, I uh...I don't really know what happened.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” The voice was controlled but kind, and Bard decided this man was honestly concerned about him, though he couldn't fathom why. 

“Well...uni is hard.” He managed 'How eloquently put, Bard' He thought. But if Thranduil thought his answer was basic, he didn't show it. 

“Ah, I understand. So it's safe to assume this is your first year, then?” Thranduil asked, but once again no malice was behind the words, only curiosity and-was that amusement? Bard couldn't be sure. 

“Yeah, it is...” At that, Thranduil chuckled, and lifted his drink to his lips, a small smirk on his face.

Bard couldn't contain himself, his nerves were already shot from the whole ordeal. “What's so funny?” 

Thranduil only smiled back. “I apologize if I appeared to be laughing at you. I assure you I wasn't. I simply remembered my first year. It was as hectic as yours appears to be, if not more.” 

Bard was silent, an indication for Thranduil to continue talking. So Thranduil embarked on the tale of his first year of art class, when he knocked over a tray of paint onto the boy he had been flirting with on the first day, leaving a brown and red stain all down his front. At that, Bard had laughed out loud, and he quite liked the way his laugh mixed with Thranduil's, they were quite harmonious. 

“You didn't!” Bard exclaimed, still laughing. 

“I did. I was so embarrassed I considered dropping the class.” Thranduil sighed, picking up his almost-empty cup. “But it ended up okay. The guy I spilled paint on got a boyfriend anyway, I'm sure you've seen them around campus-Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins? They're rarely away from each other, it's hard to miss them." 

'Well, at least someone's happy.' Bard thought dejectedly, willing away more tears. 

"But I decided to stay in art, and now I'm glad that I did.” Thranduil continued, gently picking up Bard's hand from across the table and lacing Bard's tan, weather-worn fingers through his own pale, immaculate ones-how you could even have immaculate fingers, Bard wasn't sure, but Thranduil definitely did-and fixing him with a kind smile.

“And why's that?” Bard asked, partly teasing, partly honestly curious. 

“If I left I never would've met you.” Thranduil's words were soft, but genuine, and left Bard blushing madly. 

“Well, Thranduil, I'm glad you did. And if I may be so bold, I'm glad I met you too.” Bard said with a small smile. Thranduil smiled back, before sparing a quick glance at his watch. 

“Oh, hell, is that the time?” He asked, hurriedly jumping up and grabbing his empty cup. As Bard was about to ask what was wrong, Thranduil answered. “I have class at ten.” 

Bard looked at the clock on the wall. 9:54. Oops. “Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you-” 

“No!” Thranduil said, admittedly forcefully. “I mean, I'm glad, really. I'm glad I could help. Uh...here!” He said before grabbing the napkin from off the table and a pen from his pocket. He scribbled something down and thrust it-ever so gracefully- into Bard's hands before rushing out. He paused in the doorway, and turned back to look at Bard, his face alight with mirth. “And no more crying until I'm there to help, yeah?” And then he was gone, leaving Bard with only a memory of his silvery-blond hair and endless legs. 

Bard smiled and clutched the napkin close to his chest. 'Maybe this won't be all that bad. Not if I have Thranduil.' He thought, the beginnings of hope blooming in his mind.

And just like that, the day of Bard, stressed, first-year uni student turned from worst day ever to pretty damn great. It happened in the blink of an eye, and all it took was some kindness from an angel in a red plaid shirt.


End file.
